a witch in the shadows
by deadwoodpecker
Summary: He was her friend. her teacher. her guide. the author of her darkest hour. he taught her magic beyond what anyone thought, and one desperate use of it changes everything. Ginny Weasley is the witch in the shadows, and this is her story. Trigger warning for loss of innocence. This story will cover seven years.
1. i have such sights i can show you

It was her first journal.

Ginny ignored the laughter drifting in the open window. Well, she ignored it as much as she could. The most constant voices came from the twins: they whooped and laughed and taunted each other. Ron's was less common: a mixture of taunts and defensiveness. She heard Harry's voice the least. A shout of surprise and laughter, here, and a thrill of celebration, there. Ginny listened for it, hard, and might have sat there for an hour, pretending she was ignoring the fact Harry Potter was at the Burrow and had been for weeks.

_My first journal,_ thought Ginny. She'd always liked writing and practicing her handwriting under her mother's direction. This was probably why her parents had slipped this in with her school things. Her mother knew she liked writing and wanted her to have a journal. Or maybe it was her dad. Either one would've done it, and not want to make a fuss that the journal was a little battered and a little bruised next to the shiny new books Harry had tipped into her cauldron.

"Caught it!" Harry shouted.

Ginny jumped. He was out in the orchard with her brothers, but his voice had sounded so close...

_Get a grip_, she told herself. Annoyance made her slam open the cover of the book, then immediately regret it; they had to take great care with their things, they couldn't afford to replace them. Fred had learned that the hard way when he'd been careless with his old Shooting Star, and their dad said he'd have to earn every knut to get a new broom. Ginny, who snuck into the broomshed to nick her brothers's brooms at every opportunity, was more disappointed in the loss of the Shooting Star than Fred.

Clattering footsteps sounded outside her door, and pure instinct had her curving an arm protectively over the journal. It was the twins, laughing and shoving each other into the walls. Journal forgotten, Ginny slipped out of her desk chair and went quietly to the door. She'd missed when they decided to leave off their makeshift Quidditch game and come home to get ready for dinner. So caught up in her new present, she'd missed it.

She didn't miss hearing Harry and Ron walk by her room. Ron sort of stumped around, but Harry was lighter on his feet. He'd been so embarrassed yesterday, when Gilderoy Lockhart pulled him in front of the crowd. And then with the Malfoy boy! He hadn't wanted all that, which made Ginny almost grateful that she couldn't talk around him. She was sure to gush and make his face go red like it had in Flourish and Blotts. He wouldn't want that.

After the sound of his footsteps receded, Ginny slouched back to her chair. The excitement over her present faded a bit. Honestly, what could compare to having Harry Potter here in her home? It took some effort to shove that thought aside. The last thing she wanted was for any of her family (or worse, Harry himself) to realize how exciting it was to have him there, and how brilliantly embarrassing it was. She tipped her chair back and relived the moment she'd come down the stairs to find _Harry Potter_ in her kitchen. Instead of making a cake of herself, though, she imagined she'd been cooler... more like Bill... maybe even with her own pair of dragonhide boots.

"Ginny! Dinner!"

Her mum's shout told her she'd been yelling for her for a while, and Ginny launched forward. Her fantasy fragmented, and she was no longer wearing brand new robes and dragonhide boots and walking down to the kitchen to see Harry stand up hastily, and say: "Oh, you must be Ginny! Ron's told me all about you." Instead, she was just Ginny again.

This is what she wrote in her journal: "My name is Ginny Weasley". She scrawled it across the first page and didn't wait for the ink to dry. She left it open on the desk and left, both eager for and dreading the next few hours.

It wasn't until much later than Ginny expected that she got back to her room. After dinner, everyone went to the sitting room. Ginny sat on her hands, feeling flushed with the effort of not saying anything to embarrass herself. Everyone else were quite merry. Her mother hummed a Celestina Warbeck song while she embroidered a pillowcase; the twins sat in the center of the floor and tried to coax Percy into playing a game of exploding snap. And Harry was playing a game of wizarding chess with Ron.

"I thought you said having older chess pieces would help," Harry said. Laughter lurked in his words.

"Even they think you're bad," Ron said.

Ginny shifted. In her mind's eye, she could see herself. She was wearing dragonhide boots again and robes that weren't patched and shabby. "Budge over, Ron," this Ginny would say. Ron would grumble but scoot over, and it would be Ginny playing against him. It was stupid and unfair, but in her head, Ginny wasn't paralyzed by the fear of saying the wrong thing. She sighed a little.

"Ginny?"

Her dad's gentle voice dissolved her fantasy.

He invited her to come out and check the charms on the garden with him. Ginny agreed, feeling an immense swell of gratitude. Of course, they didn't give her mother's expansive garden much more than a cursory look. It was as stuffed as usual. It had to feed so many different people, after all, and provide the magical plants that made up the potions her mother made. But the charms to keep the night bugs away held steady, and her dad led her to the small shed at the back.

Her mother was never really concerned about this shed, though Ginny sometimes thought her dad would be in trouble if her mum ever got curious. The shelves were lined with all sorts of Muggle artifacts that Ginny didn't know the name of. Some were glossy and black, others were faded. Some had what her dad claimed was called "plugs", but others didn't have any sort of tail-like appendage. It was a fascinating place, her dad's shed.

"Look, I got another one," he said.

"Oh, well, that one's a proper artifact!" Ginny said. She peered closer. It was about the size and shape of a bin, but had an odd sort of cover: there was a rectangular hole that ran through the center, and it had grooved metal teeth. "What does it do? It's some sort of weapon, I bet, look, that could hurt someone!"

"Not everything Muggles make is some sort of weapon," her dad said. He ruffled her hair.

"I know," said Ginny. "A lot of them are peaceful, I know, Dad." Her father was always very careful to make sure that none of his children took on the ideas of the Ministry. One of his favorite topics of conversation was the casual disregard for Muggles was one of the things that helped He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named get so much power. _Don't ever lump them in like they're all the same, he said many times. Us Weasleys are a lot different from other families, and Muggles can be as different from each other as we are from, say, the Malfoys._

"Good," he said. He clapped his hands together and looked down at the bin with the oddly shaped cover. "Now, someone cursed this so it _did_ turn into a rather awful weapon. But not a Muggle, it was a wizard who wanted to hurt them."

"Or a witch," Ginny said, smirking up at him.

"Or a witch, how right you are," he said. "Those metal teeth in there were chomping down on everything it could get. Perkins broke the curse, and I took it home." He put his hands on his hips and looked at it. "I can't figure out how to make it useful _here_, though."

Ginny chuckled. "Maybe you should take it apart? Really get a good look at it so you can figure out how to make it work for us?"

"You're right, Ginny," he said.

They spent the next hour taking the strange bin apart. There was some waste left in the bottom, but it was only scraps of paper: long, thin scraps that had completely savaged whatever it was that had been written there. Once, her dad had found a little compartment that had one of the tails with a plug on the end, and let out an exclamation. They finally decided, together, that they could charm it to produce more compost for the garden.

"Excellent idea, Ginny!"

"Well, it was mostly _your_ idea, Dad," Ginny said, grinning.

His eyes twinkled at her. "Ah, it's good to hear your voice again," he said. "You've been, umm, quiet all summer."

She blushed and kicked her foot against the worktable. "I, um, you know, I."

Her dad shook his head and looked up at the ceiling. "I can't believe you're old enough to go to Hogwarts, let alone have a crush on a boy." Ginny's insides writhed with embarrassment. Her jaw locked together. Was it so obvious that her dad would just drop it so casually like that?! Worse, he kept talking, apparently not able to recognize how _horrified_ she was. "There could be worse boys, you know, but blimey. My baby is growing up."

_His baby_ wanted the floor to swallow her up.

"I can't wait to go to Hogwarts," Ginny said loudly. "I can't wait to start learning magic."

The diversion worked. "You've already got a good grounding," he said. "You've always paid more attention than your brothers. Well, most of them. Bill and Percy were always watching, too." He tapped the Muggle artifact with his wand and muttered under his breath. The lid of the bin shivered; blue light rippled up and down it. The metal teeth clattered together and took on a sheen of the same color. "Ah. I think that worked, Ginny!"

"Good," she said. The relief she felt had nothing to do with her dad's charm, but everything to do with the fact he'd stopped talking about Ginny's crush like it was so obvious that it could come up in the most casual of conversations.

They tested out the new composting artifact, and it worked perfectly. It was added to the shelves all around the shed.

"I'm sorry, Ginny," Arthur said, after he'd put the artifact away.

"For what?" Ginny asked.

He gave her a knowing look. "I expect you want a bit more privacy," he said.

"Oh, well…"

There was an awkward pause, broken only when Ginny pointed at an artifact at random and asked what it did.

When they finally went back to the house, everyone had moved on from the sitting room except her mother. She was yawning and gesturing around the room with her wand. Sofa cushions righted themselves and plumped up, a minor spill vanished, and crumbs swept themselves up into a bin. "You two check the garden?" she asked around a huge yawn.

"Oh, yes," said Ginny. "Is everyone, um, in bed?"

Her parents exchanged glances that had Ginny's face heating up again. She ducked her head and wished there were some sort of charm that could get rid of her embarrassment for her. "I'm going to bed, then," she mumbled. "Good night!" She fled to her room and slammed the door shut and immediately pressed herself against it. Moonlight streamed through the window. The window was still open, from when she'd been pretending not to listen to her brothers (and any of the friends they might have over) play Quidditch. Now other noises drifted in the window: frogs at the pond called to one another, crickets sang, and an owl hooted.

When Ginny finally moved further into her room, her lamp flared up, providing more light. It spilled over onto her desk and made a bright pool. At the very center of it was her new journal. Suddenly, there was nothing more that she wanted to do than write out what had happened tonight.

_But what if the twins find it?!_

She sat, bottom half in the chair, and legs spread out as though she were about to leap out of it. It was tempting to pour out all her thoughts, but her brothers had never given her much privacy. If they ever found it, they'd probably read it out loud at the dinner table. Ginny could see it happening. They would have no mercy.

"I could hide it," Ginny muttered. The truth was, it was so tempting to pick up her quill and write in it. It was an inviting little thing. The paper was old, but that didn't matter, did it? The cover had a couple of stains on it, but it was what her parents could afford, wasn't it? She tucked her legs in under the desk. At that moment, she noticed that the paper was entirely blank. She leaned back in her chair, a little disconcerted. _Didn't I write my name?_ she thought, baffled.

_You must've forgotten._

Ginny finally looked down at the journal, dipped her quill in ink, and held it over the paper. Her mouth curved down in dismay when the ink dripped, creating an untidy splotch at the top corner. "Bugger," Ginny muttered. She reached for a cloth to blot it, but when she turned back the splotch had vanished.

The page in front of her was aged, yes, but unblotched.

A little thrill of discovery went through her. She _had_ written her name in the journal, after all! Her parents hadn't given her an ordinary journal. It was magical! Excited now, Ginny wrote her name in large, loopy letters on the same page she'd written it before. It remained for a few heartbeats, then slowly faded into the yellowish paper. It was _perfect_, she decided. It was almost unbelievable how perfect it was. Her dad's voice came back to her, talking about privacy, and here was the perfect journal for her. Her brothers couldn't read any embarrassing confessions out loud to Harry at the dinner table. There would be nothing to read!

Except that as Ginny watched, words did appear. They were faint at first, and then grew bolder. And instead of just Ginny Weasley, it was an entire sentence.

_I introduced myself earlier, but you never responded. Hello, Ginny Weasley, it's nice to meet you. My name is Tom Riddle._

Ginny picked up the journal and flipped through the pages, looking it all over. It was rather more magical than she'd thought at first…

_It'd be rude not to respond_, she thought.

_Hello, Tom Riddle, she wrote. I've never heard of a journal that writes back before._

_Much better than a book that never lets you stop reading it!_

_That's true_, she wrote. She wanted to ask what, exactly, it was, but that seemed rude. It had introduced itself with a name, hadn't it? And it had a sense of humor, didn't it? _Who are you, Tom Riddle?_

There was a long pause and Ginny wondered if the enchantment on the journal had come to an end. She was just about to close it when more words appeared.

_First, I need to learn a few things about you._

Her brow knit.

_Are you a student? Are you at Hogwarts?_

She relaxed a little. _I am. I will be, I mean. I'm about to start. It's almost September 1st!_

_Congratulations. Tell me, is it your first year?_

_Yes_, she wrote. _Why?_

_I ask because I am not only a secret diary, but I am also a teacher._ For the first time, Ginny noticed how very elegant the flowing script was. There were little flourishes on some of the letters that made it look beautiful. It struck her, then, that it was probably her dad who'd enchanted this diary for her. He'd bought the diary for her, and taken it home to enchant it. Who else would know she wanted privacy for her thoughts and also how much she yearned to learn magic?

_Do you teach magic?_ Her script was childish and ugly compared to his.

_I can._

A loud knock on her door startled her. Ginny realized she had her nose pressed up against the page, staring at the words _I can_ with a peculiar sort of excitement. "What is it?" she called.

Her mother had decided it was time for bed, and even though Ginny tried to argue, she stood outside Ginny's door while she changed into pajamas. "All right, I'm getting in bed," Ginny said grumpily. She did so, and pulled the covers up to her chin. The moment she did so, the lamp on her desk winked out and her room was lit only by moonlight once more. Her thoughts raced. Her father had given her a diary that would not only keep her secrets but would _teach her magic_! None of the boys had ever got anything like that before they left for Hogwarts. _Unless they never said anything_, Ginny reasoned. Maybe her dad had given everyone something, but no one ever mentioned it.

Once she'd decided this was true, she flung the covers off her bed and rushed to her desk. The light was too weak to see by, but when she brought the diary and her quill back to her bed, she realized there was just enough moonlight for her to write. _Can you teach me magic?!_ She asked. Her letters were big and bold.

_I can teach you magic,_ Tom Riddle wrote. _I know such magic I can teach you. I have such sights I can show you._

**_Author's Note:_**_ I initially posted this under a pseudonym. Enjoy!_


	2. just a bit of alchemy

They were nearly out to the main road on September 1st when Ginny, digging through her bag, realized with a panic that _her diary wasn't there!_ "I've got to go back!" she shouted. Her mother made a sound like an angry cat, but her father just set his jaw and turned the car around.

Ginny flew back to the Burrow, up the stairs, and grabbed the diary off her desk. It was waiting for her. Sunlight pooled over it, making it shiny and beautiful. It hardly looked old at all. _It's my own stupid fault for almost leaving it_, Ginny thought. She bit her lip. Last night, when she'd been writing to Tom, he'd told her to make sure she tucked him into her trunk just so this wouldn't happen. She'd _promised_ she wouldn't forget him, and she nearly had!

Her dad honked the horn, startling her out of her thoughts, and Ginny grabbed the book and ran back down to the Ford Anglia.

Despite many setbacks and rising tempers of everyone in the car, they managed to make it to King's Cross on time. Ginny was sandwiched in between her mother and father, clutching her diary, and listening to Harry talk to her brothers. There were fairies in her stomach, dancing around, making her slightly breathless with nerves. The number of them increased when she got out of the car, helped her father load her trunk on the trolley, and walked into the station.

"Nervous?" Molly whispered, squeezing her hand.

"A little," Ginny whispered back. "Mostly excited." And she _was_ mostly excited. Together, they went through the barrier leading to platform 9 ¾. Ginny's excitement was rising now, and was so high that it took several minutes for her to realize that Harry and Ron were nowhere to be seen.

"You'll write to us, won't you?" Molly asked. There were tears in her eyes. "Not just to Bill?"

"I dunno, Bill's so cool…" Ginny said. She shoved her trembling fingers into the pockets of her robes. The diary was in there, cool against her hand. It soothed her. "I'm only joking, of course I'll write."

Arthur loaded her trunk into a compartment. "Two other trunks in there," he said cheerfully. "You'll make friends in no time."

Ginny nodded.

"Arthur… I'm going to go check to make sure Ron and Harry got their things on board," Molly said, biting her lip. She wrapped her arms around Ginny and squeezed tightly. "You'll be wonderful, love."

"I know, I've wanted to go for so long," Ginny said. And she had, but when Molly hugged her one more time, Ginny wanted to cling to her. She fought the urge and let her mother melt into the crowd in search of Harry and Ron.

It was Arthur's turn to hug her. "Remember, you're a Weasley," he told her.

"I know, Dad," she said.

"Make lots of friends," he said.

"I will," she said. Ron had made friends with Harry on that very first train ride. She knew it wouldn't be the same, but she couldn't help but hope she found her best friend right away.

Her mother materialized beside her father. "I can't find them, Arthur," she said. Her brown eyes were crinkled at the edges and her lips were taut.

"I'm sure they got on the train," Arthur said.

Ginny's stomach fluttered and she looked from one to the other.

"You've got to get on the train, Ginny," Molly said as fresh steam poured onto the platform. She hugged her tightly, told her to be careful, and pushed her up the steps. "We'll write you every day!"

Ginny waved from the door, but her parents were already melting back into the crowd. Her mother's hand was clamped over her father's arm, and she was talking very quickly. There was a pain in her stomach. As excited as she'd been to go to Hogwarts, now that it was here, she wished she had just a bit more time.

She backed up the stairs, immediately ran into someone. "Oh, I'm sorry," she said.

"Watch it, firstie," the older boy growled. He did a double take when he looked at her. "Merlin's nuts, another Weasley…"

The next hour was more of the same. Ginny tried three different times to enter a compartment. Each time, she was rebuffed. In the first, three older girls stared, aghast, at her robes. Ginny had tried to make the patches look like an artistic statement, but she supposed by laughter, it didn't work. The second was worse: her own brother wouldn't let her stay. "It's just for the prefects, Ginny, I'll come find you later. Mum already made me promise I would." The third time she tried, two boys just threw dungbombs on the floor of the compartment, and Ginny took that as a cue to leave.

There were no empty compartments, so Ginny found a little niche, dragged her trunk into it, and sat on top of it. Ginny wanted to be chatting with the other students, getting to know new friends, or buying something from the trolley lady. Instead, she dragged her diary out of the pocket of her robes, found a quill in her other pocket, and began to write.

_Everyone's robes looks a lot nicer than mine._ Ginny wrote. Tears threatened at the backs of her eyes, and she wished those sixth years hadn't blocked her from the rest of the train. Ron would let her sit with him. It was this that led her to weeping a little over the diary. To her relief, her tears vanished into the paper leaving it unmarked.

_You're crying._ wrote Tom.

_Yes_, she wrote. _It's just that nothing is like I expected. Those girls moved my trunk out of the compartment! There was plenty of room, but they said they didn't want a first year in there with them… they were really mean._

_Students can be vicious._

_One of them laughed at me because there's a hole in the hem of my robes._ It was difficult for Ginny to admit this. The diary had no eyes. He couldn't tell at all that Ginny's family didn't have a lot of galleons. She didn't want to admit this to him, especially since it felt like betraying her father to admit that it bothered her. _Not that I mind being poor, but they were laughing at me._

_I grew up with nothing of my own._

It was an odd thing for a diary to write. Ginny sat back and brushed the feathers of her quill against her palm. Of course a diary had nothing of its own. It'd been enchanted by her father, hadn't it? So how could it say it grew up with nothing? _Were you always a diary?_ she asked.

_No._ The word appeared before the ink from her question vanished. And yes. I am much more than a diary. I am a teacher and a friend. I am the memory of a student many considered brilliant. He was much sought after as a tutor.

Oh.

Ginny cocked her head and looked at the diary. Her assessment of it shifted and changed. Perhaps her father hadn't enchanted it… perhaps he had found it. Maybe even when he was a student at Hogwarts? She traced her finger along the spine of the diary. It was very old. There were places where the leather binding was scratched. _Never trust anything if you can't see where it puts its brains_. Her father had taught her that almost from the cradle. But he'd given this diary to her…

More words appeared. _I hope you aren't nervous._

_I guess it's silly but I've never heard of a memory of someone being put in a diary._ Then a thought struck her. _It isn't a curse, is it?_

_Of course not. I'm a teaching diary and a friend. Nothing more._

Ginny settled against the wall. The train vibrated beneath her. The corner she'd found was private. Even the trolley lady hadn't found her. The shouts and laughter from the other students were muffled by the sound of the moving train. She felt a momentary pang. It hadn't occurred to her that she'd spend her first Hogwarts Express ride all alone. Since that had never happened with any of her brothers, it hadn't even occurred to her to be worried about it.

_Do you have your wand with you? I could teach you a few things before you even get to school. That way you know more than any other first year going in._

_I have my wand,_ Ginny wrote. What she wanted to be doing was getting to know the other students. That's what she thought the Express would be all about.

_What wood is it made out of? I presume it's from Ollivanders?_

_It's yew. And yes, I got it from Ollivanders! Some of my brothers got wands from family members, but I got to get a new one._

_Yew! Excellent choice. Do your family members not need their wands?_

Ginny sighed and thought about the stories her mother told of her uncles Gideon and Fabian. _Two of my brothers have my uncles wands. They died in the war before I was even born._

_Against Grindelwald?_

Ginny shook her head, then realized how stupid that was. The diary couldn't see her. _No, Grindelwald was long ago. The war against You Know Who._

_I'm afraid I don't know who._

_Oh. Well, we aren't supposed to say the name… but I guess I can write it. Voldemort._

The diary didn't say anything for quite some time. Ginny fiddled with the hole in her robes, scratched the back of her neck, closed her eyes and tried to pretend she was part of the laughing crowd. She might have even dozed off a little, lulled as she was by the motion of the train and the fact she'd stayed up very late last night. She felt very brave for having written down that name. All her life, she'd been afraid of it, afraid of the stories she'd listen in on. Ginny couldn't remember a time when she _hadn't_ known about the war, or the things You Know Who had done to her uncles. And she couldn't remember a time that she hadn't known that Harry Potter had ended it. It was odd that her diary hadn't known. _It must be very old_, thought Ginny. _He thought Grindelwald was the threat!_ She only had a vague sense of who Grindelwald was, even, it'd happened that long ago.

She sat back on her trunk, twirling the quill between her fingers. The curtain that was hiding her niche from the other students shivered from the vibration of the train. _It would be nice to tell Tom all about the war,_ she thought. _I should tell him._ So she set her quill to the diary, and told him all about how Harry Potter defeated You Know Who. The train rocketed through the countryside, and Ginny hunched over the diary, feeling quite warm. Tom made it easy to forget the fact that she was sitting all by herself. He was quite enthusiastic about the subject matter.

_And now he was living with us,_ wrote Ginny. _He's my brother's best friend, and he's so nice._ She squirmed. There were a lot of other things she wanted to say, but…

"_Ginny_!" Percy sounded deeply annoyed. "There you are."

Ginny looked up at him, blinking.

"You need to get into your school robes," he said. "Get up, Ginny, come on. We're almost there! Why are you sitting in here, anyway? I suppose it doesn't matter. You've got the wrong set of robes on, we're almost to Hogsmeade!"

His impatience infected her. Ginny set aside the diary. Her hand was cramped and she was light-headed from hunger. Percy waited outside the curtain while she dragged her nicer set of robes on. This one had fewer patches and they were all black. There was no hole in the hem to make fun of. Percy nodded his head with approval as she came out from behind the curtain, then helped her with her trunk.

Ginny followed him, wishing that the companion she'd spent the whole train ride talking to was real.

Hogwarts was almost exactly as she'd expected. The boat ride Ginny took was silent. Her boat was empty. _You're just the odd witch out,_ she told herself. _Someone had to sit by themselves._ But still, it felt a little unfair that she'd had to sit by herself all the way here, and then by herself on the boat.

But Hogwarts appeared before her at that morose thought, and Ginny gaped along with the rest of the first years. It was huge and beautiful, and towering over them. A smile spread outward on her face. At last she was here! She hugged the diary to her chest. She was here! It was exactly as her parents and brothers told her. A thin-lipped woman introduced herself as Professor McGonagall and told them all to form a line. Ginny stood between a girl she vaguely know as Luna Lovegood, and a small, mousy-haired boy who was looking around at everything with wide, excited eyes.

"I can't believe this," he kept whispering.

Ginny's lips tipped up in a smile. He must be a Muggleborn, she thought. There was an openness to his awe and fascination that none of the purebloods or half-bloods would show.

They were ushered into the Great Hall, which Ginny felt like she already knew, it'd been described to her so many times. Her eyes swept over the different tables loaded with plates and goblets and everything. She finally spotted Weasley red hair, and surmised it was the Gryffindor table. But no matter how hard Ginny looked, she couldn't find Harry. She only stopped looking when the Sorting Hat began its song.

The only thing about that night that shocked Ginny was when she went forward and put the Sorting Hat on. Her whole family was in Gryffindor. Not even just her parents and brothers, but her aunts and uncles. There was no doubt in her mind where she was headed.

And yet.

Ginny was the last one called. Her knees knocked together as she waited for Professor McGonagall to call her name. _Ignore it, Ginny,_ she told herself firmly. She scanned the Gryffindor table again. She thought her brothers were smiling at her, but she could be wrong. There was impatient talk from the Slytherin table, and Ginny hurried forward, slammed the hat on her head, and waited for it to put her in Gryffindor.

_Hmm._ A little voice said instead. _Interesting._

"What's interesting?" Ginny muttered. A tingle of annoyance interrupted her nerves at being in front of all of these people.

_A Weasley, and yet…_

"I belong in Gryffindor," Ginny said under her breath.

_Are you sure? I can see the ambition in you…_

"I belong in Gryffindor," Ginny said again. Annoyance was now replaced by panic. Slytherin! The hat wanted to put her in Slytherin! Her brothers would never speak to her again… would her parents even let her come home?

_Ah, well. You've got the courage for it._

"GRYFFINDOR!" the hat shouted.

It wasn't until Ginny got to the Gryffindor table that Fred and George swung her around, settled her next to them, and then told her that Ron and Harry had never made it onto the train.

"What?" Ginny said. The relief that the hat hadn't put her in Slytherin was gone.

"Mum sent a letter on," George said. "They're looking for them."

Ginny didn't enjoy the welcoming feast at all. She could only worry about her brother. It wasn't until she saw him in the common room, alive and well, that the icy feeling left. It was probably all the talking she'd done with Tom on the train. Telling him what she knew about You Know Who had made her jumpier than normal. "You _prat_!" Ginny shouted at him.

"Geroff, Ginny!" Ron said, though he looked sheepish.

Ginny stormed away and up the stairs to her dormitory. It was empty, everyone else was downstairs, still. Their trunks had been brought up, and Ginny dragged hers over to the bed just under the window. She changed into her pajamas, closed the curtains around her bed, and opened the diary.

Tom was sympathetic to her.

_I don't imagine that you would've done very well in Slytherin at all. You seem much more a Gryffindor to me._

_Thank you_, Ginny wrote, relieved.

_I have been thinking._

At that, words began to fill the pages. Ginny's eyes widened. For the first time, the diary looked like a normal diary, one someone had spent a lot of time writing in. It was the same, flowing script that Tom used, though much smaller. It was so small, Ginny could hardly read anything more than little snatches: Little Hangleton was one. But before Ginny could try to read more, the words disappeared.

_What have you been thinking about?_

_I know a little spell that can help us communicate,_ he wrote.

Ginny's eyebrows knit together. She thought they did a fairly decent job communicating already.

_It's hard to describe the hand motions in regard to wandwork,_ Tom explained. _I know a little spell that would let me show you how to do you work. You won't regret it… it's very easy._

_Oh! Well, that sounds fine!_

It was indeed an easy little spell. _It's a little bit of alchemy,_ Tom explained. _They teach it as an elective… maybe you'll be able to learn it._ Ginny's wand was warm in her hand and it took her three tries. But on the third try after she said the incantation, she felt a warmth in her sternum. A little spark of light leapt off her and onto the pages of the diary. It spilled over the page and then sank into it, disappearing in the same way as the ink and her tears had.

_Did that work?_ Ginny asked, eager to please him.

_I do believe it did. Well done, Ginny. Now get some rest. It's going to be a busy time for you._


	3. you understand me, don't you?

Ginny sat cross-legged on one of Hagrid's pumpkins. A bowl of glass balls of varying sizes perched next to her. Tom was true to his word – after every class, he asked what she'd studied, and then he endeavored to show her ways to improve. _The more you practice at it, the more you'll impress the professors_, he encouraged. So even when Ginny was tired, she made sure to follow Tom's instructions.

It helped that it was a good distraction, since nothing at Hogwarts was quite as she'd dreamed it would be, except the food.

A week later, and it still stung that the hat had considered sorting her into Slytherin. She'd tossed and turned the first few nights, imagining it. A few times, she got out of bed and jotted a few frantic sentences to Tom, who was the only one she'd confided in. And just last night, she'd dreamed she was following a couple of first years down into the cold damp of the dungeons.

_"Try to keep up, would you?" said a tall, haughty boy._

_Ginny wanted to speed up at the tone of that voice, but her body refused to obey. If anything, it slowed, as though to annoy the haughty boy._

_The walls around them were clammy. Cold wafted off them. They were further in the dungeons than Ginny had ever been, and the suits of armor here were not made of shining silver, but were moldy and black. Just inside a tiny alcove was a knight with armor so black the light from the flickering torches seemed to be swallowed by it. A sword lifted to halt their way. "Password?" it rumbled._

_"Magic is Might," said the haughty boy._

_A passageway appeared behind the knight, lit by fat lamps that hung down from the ceiling. They gave off a greenish glow, and cast strange shadows on the faces of the other Slytherin students._

_Her feet carried her onward, even though Ginny was frantic inside her own head. No, no, no! I'm not in Slytherin! I won't be, I won't be, I won't be–_

Ginny woke up with a jerk, heart racing frantically in her chest. It had felt so real that Ginny had to reach out and wrap her hands in the Gryffindor hangings around her bed to convince herself that she was in Gryffindor where she belonged...

It had taken her hours to go back to sleep, and Ginny was still exhausted from the dream and the aftermath. It was warm atop the pumpkin. The sun shone down on her, and her eyes fell halfway shut. Hagrid's hut was at her back and there were chickens all around. A few roosters strutted back and forth, keeping a wary distance from one another and posturing for the chickens. Ginny watched them, ignoring the bowl of glass balls she was meant to be levitating, and felt a little squeeze at how much she was suddenly reminded of the Burrow. With a little sigh, she shut the diary and let her eyes fall all the way closed.

Heavy footsteps and cheerful whistling pulled her out of a light doze.

"Ne'er tell me I see a Weasley in me pumpkin patch! An' a new one at that!"

Ginny turned to see a massive man standing on the other side of the pumpkin patch. He had wild-looking hair and eyes as black as a beetle. It was Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of the Keys at Hogwarts, and she'd heard a lot about him. She smiled. "Hi, Mr. Hagrid–"

"Jus' call me Hagrid, everyone else do," he said.

"Hagrid, then," she said. The sun was very bright.

"Tell me," he said, amused. "Do the younges' Weasley follow Fred and George? Do I need to worry about any prankin' bein' done to my pumpkins?"

Ginny shook her head. "Not right now," she said.

"Ah, I worried abou' tha', seein' ye sit here all by your lonesome. Though' ye migh' be a look-out."

"No, I just... came here to practice. And write in my diary," she said. The sun went behind some of the clouds that were scudding across the clear blue sky over Hogwarts. There was a softening in the hard contours of Hagrid's face, as though he understood without Ginny having to tell him that she was out here alone because she didn't really have anyone to be with except her diary, and she couldn't very well say: _well, I'm just sitting here with my good friend Tom Riddle_, now could she? Hagrid would think she was nutters.

"Wan' a cup o' tea?" he asked.

"Yes, please," said Ginny.

"Though' you were Ron at first," said Hagrid. "He an' Hermione an' Harry are always makin' their way down here."

"Harry Potter?" she squeaked. Her whole face started to burn. She wished she could take back her outburst immediately. First Hagrid looked surprised, and then a mortifying, understanding smile tipped up the corners of his mouth. "I mean... Ron and Hermione and... they come down here?" Merlin, what if they all came down right now.

"Sometimes," Hagrid said. He left Ginny on the front stoop of his cottage and went inside. Ginny heard a light splash followed by another. A moment later, he returned with a couple of mugs holding a steaming hot tea. "Keep me kettle on all day, for when I wan' a cuppa."

To Ginny's immense relief, Hagrid did not mention Harry again, and she didn't have to humiliate herself further. He chatted about a couple of unicorns he found tangled in some bushes in the forest, how he got them out, and other little details of his job. They sat on his little front stoop, and if every once in a while Ginny scanned the way leading up to the castle, wondering if she would see a slight, black-haired figure, Hagrid did not mention it.

It was a while before Ginny stood and stretched. "I'd better get back," she said. She almost added that Tom would be wondering where she was, but managed to keep that in.

"Come by any time," Hagrid said affably. "Maybe nex' time you'll run inter yer brother. An' his friends."

Another flush spread over her face. "Maybe," she said. Her voice squeaked.

"Well, off yer go, then."

Ginny waved goodbye, grabbed the bowl of unused glass balls, and headed back up to the castle. Halfway up, she was feeling guilty that she'd ignored Tom and his lessons for so long, she found a little bench carved from a boulder and went to work practicing levitation two at a time.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

The first time Tom showed Ginny a memory, it had nothing to do with learning magic.

Ginny rummaged through her trunk, looking for the scarf her mother knitted her. Though it was still only September, the nights were getting cool. "Blast, where is it?" she muttered.

"What are you looking for?"

Ginny might have believed Aquila Thaine, her least favorite dormmate, was posing a friendly question, had Ginny not spent enough time in her company to know better. "A scarf," she said shortly.

"Oh, is it too cold for you here?" she asked. There was a light tone in her voice that made Ginny grit her teeth. "You're from Devon, aren't you? And you live in that little house with your – how many brothers?"

"Six, but they–"

"Must be so warm in there," Aquila said. She fanned herself, and another of the girls giggled.

"It's not bad," said Ginny.

Aquila's face became exaggeratedly serious. "I bet you're also cold because of the... state of your robes," she said. "It can't be that warm with all the patches. The wind must get through."

Ginny's face burned and she gritted her teeth. "My robes are fine for keeping warm."

"Oh," Aquila said, with clear disbelief. "My apologies."

She and the others left, chattering and laughing, while Ginny continued looking for her scarf. Her eyes stung. This was the second time Aquila mentioned her robes, as though it were any of her business! Her hands shook. It took nearly ten minutes before Ginny no longer felt on the verge of tears, had pulled her scarf out of the trunk filled with shabby clothes, and sat back on her bed to open the diary.

_Do you know any charms that can make my robes look unpatched? _

Ginny did not want to admit it to Tom that Aquila's needling bothered her, so she left her question at that.

_I do not. I'm afraid household charms were never where my talents lay. Why?_

Her resolve faltered and a tear fell onto the paper. It disappeared slowly. She told him everything about Aquila, the state of her robes, and how it mattered so much more than Ginny thought it would that her parents didn't have a lot of galleons. Her quill flew back and forth across the page as she told Tom so much that by the time Ginny was done, she felt oddly deflated. It didn't help that Tom was slow to respond.

_I can show you something, if you will let me. _

_Of course_, Ginny wrote immediately.

Her eyes widened when a picture formed in front of her. At first it was all spindly sketches. Lines began to appear and connected with one another until Ginny realized she was looking at a small room with fifty cots in it. Children began to appear on the beds. Stick figures at first, then so realistic that Ginny's eyes widened.

It didn't end there. The page became more and more detailed until Ginny was _standing in the room_. There was deep breathing all around, a few whimpers, and one child sobbed in the night.

"Shut up, Rawlins!"

"I'm so hungry," Rawlins cried.

"We all are, just shut up."

Ginny looked around, blinking in the moonlight, and saw that the blankets were shabbier than her robes, there were great holes in the sheets, and other children sobbed into their pillows.

It was some minutes before Ginny realized she was sitting on the end of her bed in the Gryffindor dorm room. _What was that?_ she wrote, awed.

_It was one of my memories. I trust the experience wasn't too unsettling? It took some time to discover how to show you what I wanted you to see. The next time will be a much smoother transition._

_It wasn't unsettling_, Ginny said. It wasn't quite a lie. Now that she knew what happened, it didn't frighten her.

_There are worse things than shabby robes. I grew up there, in that orphanage, deprived of many material things, but the worst was that I grew up as a Muggle. There was no magic there. You grew up with a magical family._

Ginny's eyes filled with fresh tears as she realized Tom had had it so much worse than her. This was what he'd wanted to show her.

_Ignore the people who would try to stifle you. As long as you have magic, you can have everything. _

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

"Fred! George!" Ginny said. Her voice sounded loud even to her own ears, but she was that relieved to see them. The common room was full, but a few weeks into school Ginny still didn't really have anyone but Tom to talk to. _At least Tom is better than Aquila._

"Hey, Ginny," said George. "Where'd your friends run off to?"

Ginny opened her mouth to say that she hadn't exactly made any friends yet, but Fred was there first. "Hey, Gin, have you seen Lee?" He withdrew a rather sharp looking instrument from the pocket of his robes that made Ginny take a step back.

"Planning to do him in?" she asked warily.

"'Course not," said George. Puzzlement flickered over his features before they smoothed. "Merlin, Gin, you almost sounded serious."

Ginny laughed weakly. "Of course I wasn't!"

George patted her on the shoulder. "We'll see you later!" And with a flurry of motion, the twins were moving through the crowd, searching for Lee Jordan. Ginny sank back onto the armchair. It was loud and jolly in the room, but there seemed to be a bubble around Ginny. The common room might as well be silent and still, for no one was talking to Ginny or laughing with Ginny. Ginny recoiled from her own thoughts, and tried to push them away. But they clung on.

She put the diary in her lap and opened it. Her quill hovered over the page. _I'm so alone._

Tom didn't respond with words. Instead, he showed her another scene. Ginny's heart squeezed and she sank into it.

A small boy dressed in odd clothing sat on a bed. He was very still. His hands were folded in his lap and his back was straight. Ginny had seen this boy before: it was Tom as he had been before he became a memory encased in a diary in order to teach others. Ginny didn't think he was any older than five years old.

"Tom!" a woman burst in. She wore a high-necked black gown and looked as severe as Professor McGonagall. "What are you doing in here?"

"I wanted to be alone," Tom said very formally.

Ginny felt a surge of compassion for young Tom. The blankness of his expression made her believe he didn't truly want to be alone. Maybe he didn't have any friends. He'd told her once he'd grown up in an orphanage... maybe the other orphans were mean to him.

_This could have been Harry_. The thought occurred to her, and her fingers trembled a little. It made her look closely at Tom, who was still staring blankly ahead while the woman spoke to him. She sounded very cross and kept wagging her finger at him.

She had all of Professor McGonagall's severity, but none of her warmth.

"–told me about the cockroach," the woman said.

"It was a cockroach," Tom said politely. "Miss Holling, the girls were playing with a cockroach. I worried it was diseased."

"You tell one of us. You don't take it upon yourself to steal things–"

"Who told you I stole it?" Tom said. Heat surfaced in his words.

"Never you mind. I know you took the jar from them, broke it against the stones, and stomped on it. They were calling it their _pet_, Tom Riddle. That was cruel."

"It was a cockroach," Tom said. His tone was flat again. "I didn't want them to get sick."

"You come to one of us next time," the woman said coldly. "Try something like this again, and you'll be staying behind here when we go to the shore for our holiday."

Tom didn't say another word. Ginny watched him. There was no tremble in his lips, no flush on his pale cheeks. His dark eyes were remote. _It's very brave of him to pretend he's not bothered._ The woman was not even the slightest impressed. She stared, hard, at the boy on the bed. It was as though she did not know or care how young he was. Forgetting it was just a memory, Ginny tried to pat the young Tom on the back. Her hand went through him as though he were made of smoke...

A moment later, Ginny's thoughts were out of the diary and she was aware once more of the common room around her. It was just as noisy, just as bright, just as jolly. Just as she had a few weeks ago, when Tom had first shown her he was even more extraordinary a diary than she thought, she felt a tug toward him. This time that tug was accompanied by a corresponding twinge in her chest.

Words flowed into the page.

_I liked being alone. I never felt as though anyone understood me. But you understand me, don't you, Ginny?_

There was another tug right near her sternum.

And even though Ginny would really rather someone ask her to join in the crowd, the tug turned into a twinge of sympathy. She thought of Tom sitting on his bed, and how mean that woman had been to him. Of course he'd rather be alone. Ginny looked around the room again. The twins had found Lee. They and Harry and Ron were standing near the stairs that led to the boys dormitory. All were laughing immoderately.

You're right. She wrote this even though it was a bit of a lie. She hoped he wouldn't be able to sense the untruth. _It's not so bad to be alone. And I do have you._

Over the next weeks, that statement became more and more true. The wistful moments when Ginny wished her year mates were a little more welcoming became more and more infrequent. She did well in her classes, especially Charms. If she was tired from studying and then Tom's tutoring, it just meant she was spending less time feeling sorry for herself. _And less time going to Hagrid's hut,_ she thought.


End file.
